The two men slowly and noiselessly raised their heads.
"Ah," cried Juve.
And he fired at the rapidly fleeing figure.
"Did you see?" whispered Fandor, clutching Juve's arm. "It's Chaleck."
Juve was about to leap up and start in pursuit when a series of dull thuds, the overturning of barrels, stifled oaths and cracking planks smote his ear. These noises were followed by the measured footfall of a body of men drawing near, words of command and shrill whistles.
"What's all that now?" questioned Fandor.
"The best thing that could happen for us," replied Juve. "The police are coming. These quays are a refuge for all kinds of tramps and crooks who from time to time are rounded up. We are probably going to see a 'drive.'"
Juve had scarcely finished speaking when several shots rang out; these were followed by a general uproar and then a great blue flame suddenly rose, died away and flared up again. A thick smoke permeated the atmosphere.
"Fire," exclaimed Fandor.
"The kegs of alcohol are alight," added Juve.